The Company of Strangers (On Louise Erdrich & Flying)

“That looks like Louise Erdrich?” I said, shuffling toward the boarding area of the DC-9 parked on the runway. Northwest Flight 792 out of Milwaukee was about to depart. Three days earlier on our flight from Minneapolis, Teri was stopped in security by a stern, expressionless woman with black, straight hair running down her back.

“What’s going on?” I had asked, sliding my laptop into a slingpack and leaning down to slip on my Lands’ End moccasins. Teri turned to me with a blank look. “It’s the soup,” she said. “The soup?” I laughed.

She had been stopped for carrying a blue ice pack in a small rectangular thermos, housing packages of Minnesota wild rice soup. Bob was bringing ribs from Missouri. We chuckled, wondering if they’d made it through the luggage scan.

“Come with me,” the security guard said to Teri. You need to go back through security.” I blindly followed. One step past the yellow striped police line, I realized my mistake. “Wait, can’t I wait here?” I asked the guard. “Too late,” she said.

I followed Teri, we checked our bags, and looped back through security, twice. Then we sprinted to Gate C3, pausing only long enough to realize we were supposed to be at Gate C7. We were two of the last to board the plane.

By comparison, the Milwaukee check-in had been effortless. No wild rice soup incidents. No blue ice packs filled with dangerous liquids. But Teri did have her backpack searched again. This time it was toothpaste. Finally we were shuffling toward the packed plane bound for Minneapolis.

“What? Where…” Teri said, turning her head in the direction I was staring. “That is Louise Erdrich.”

We played it cool. But could barely contain our excitement. A second before, we had been embroiled in a conversation about writers. And we had talked about Louise among the four of us Saturday night, during a weekend writing retreat at a cabin on Lake Michigan.

Jude mentioned that Louise was coming to Wisconsin to talk about her new book, The Plague of Doves. That spawned a conversation about a night last winter, when Teri, Liz, and I went to see Louise Erdrich and her two sisters, Heid and Lise, at the Minneapolis Central Library. They were appearing together for a local program on writers, Talk of the Stacks.

All three Erdrich sisters are writers. After the Friends of the Library book discussion, we had them sign our books, and Liz took a few photographs, including family shots that she agreed to email to Heid.

That was February. Now it was May — two days earlier, we had talked in casual conversation about our favorite Louise Erdrich books. And just like that, Poof! — she was sitting 15 feet from us at the airport in Milwaukee. Most people did not recognize her.

“Should we say something?” Teri asked.

“Hmmm, I don’t know. Maybe she wants to be anonymous,” I said, throwing another glance toward Louise. She wore frameless glasses, a long brown skirt, and a print blazer. When you run into a well-known writer in public, how do you know the respectful thing to do? Would the writer want you to acknowledge her work, or respect her privacy. What would my published writing friends want. What would I want?

We scanned our boarding passes and headed to our seats. We thought she’d fly First Class. But then, we didn’t even know if she was on the same plane. We were quietly surprised a few minutes later when Louise elegantly walked down the aisle with her leather briefcase. She stopped while a young man in the row across from us almost knocked her over while slinging his carry-on luggage up to the top rack.

After one more look over our shoulders, we buckled our seat belts and settled in. Louise sat down in the opposite aisle, three rows from the back of the plane. It was inspiring be in the company of a famous writer known for her craft. It felt auspicious that she was on the same flight.

“Well, at least if we go down, it will be with one of Minnesota’s most famous writers,” I quipped. “And after a great writing retreat in Wisconsin.” In some twisted way, a moment of spontaneous, dark humor made sense to me. I never board a plane without saying my prayers.

Tired from the weekend, I stared out the window. The curves of Lake Michigan receded into the distance. I thought about Maurine’s funeral pyre on the beach Sunday night. I thought about how the wet sand stuck to my feet the morning I wrote haiku on the beach. I thought about literature, about writing. I thought about Louise Erdrich. She was carrying a CBS bag. Was she on book tour? Had she been in Chicago? New York?

Teri struck up a conversation with the law student in the seat beside her. He was from Washington, D.C. They exchanged stories throughout the flight. He talked about his travels; she told him about the writing retreat, and that Louise Erdrich was on the same plane. Smiling, I looked down at Lake Michigan and the skyline of Milwaukee.

We rose to cruising altitude, the wings swooped, the plane tipped. We were heading for a bank of clouds with an open slice of light. I quickly unstrapped the Canon from my backpack under the seat, and clicked off a few shots.

The law student dropped his cell phone under his seat. It slid back toward me, resting under my pack. Camera in hand, I pushed it up under Teri’s seat with my right foot. “It’s under your seat now,” I laughed. “Can you reach it?”

She leaned down to pick it up. The glacial lake faded into darkening rain clouds. I focused on the rays of light between them. And wrote a haiku.

Post Script: Teri and I bumped into Louise Erdrich again at the MSP baggage carousel. She was engaged in conversation with a woman she seemed happy to see. We wanted to mention how much we enjoyed her talk with Heid and Lise. But the timing wasn’t right.

Liz met us at the curb with a big smile on her face. I hugged her, threw my luggage into the backseat, and mentioned that Louise Erdrich was standing at the baggage claim. “Really?” she said, peering through the sliding doors. Teri hopped inside the Saturn and we headed to Hiawatha Joe’s for debriefing and iced tea.

I decided it’s enough to send good thoughts. Though I know her books, Louise Erdrich is a stranger to me. Perhaps the greatest gift was to leave her to a peaceful trip in relative anonymity.

ybonesy, thanks. The wild rice soup was hilarious. I couldn’t believe it. And then that I followed them blindly back down the steps and then, after one step, couldn’t return to the top. We ended up checking our bags. It was just easier,

Bob’s ribs made it through fine. He checked them. We did enjoy both meals at the retreat. Fabulous! Bob said they weren’t the BEST ribs from Missouri. But maybe the next to best. Maybe I’ll make it down there some day.

I wish I had taken my camera out a second earlier. There was a good shot of the Milwaukee skyline from the air, but I just missed it. I was over a wing and had a good vantage point. I think the wing helps put the view in perspective.

Oh, and I forgot one other thing — I confess, that if Louise had not been engaged in conversation at the baggage claim, I probably would have said something, thanked her for the great talk at the Minneapolis Central Library. All three sisters were very gracious in signing books after the event. And it was wonderful to see 3 writers in one family. Maybe someday I’ll bump into her again.

Yeah, it seems like you definitely had an “in,” especially since Liz had taken those family shots and sent them to one of the sisters. But it is awkward to interrupt a conversation, even when you know someone well.

No, I’ve not been to Wisconsin or the Great Lakes. The only midwestern city I’ve been to is St. Louis, MO. It’s a part of the US, along with the South, that I’d love to see.

The photos are cool. The wing does help put things in perspective and adds a dimension that makes aerial shots that much more interesting, in my opinion. I have to say, the plane looks a little bit old, from what I can glean from the wing. 8)

The way you laid out the thumbnails, I really get a sense of the swooping and banking of the rising plane. And then the opening, all is calm, you’re even with the horizon. That’s cool.

Yes, I have an affinity for aerial shots, too. And I love the posts that you do from your plane travels. I have a book of aerial shots by an artist I fell in love with in art school. She went up with pilots and took 4 x 5 shots of sacred places all over the world. Her name escapes me. But I think the book is called Markings. I just love her work.

BTW, I’d love to have you come to the Midwest for a writing retreat someday. As close as I live to WI, I had never spent that much time in Wisconsin, and especially near Milwaukee. The only thing I knew of Milwaukee was the smokestacks and smog I passed on the outskirts on the way to Chicago.

But we did a little touring of the city (thanks to our host who lives there), and I have to say, it’s absolutely lovely. The architecture is beautiful, too. And so different than the architecture in Minneapolis. I really enjoyed spending a little time there.

And ybonesy, one other thing — you’ll be happy to know that Teri and I had a discussion about airports on the trip. We decided that MSP is like a fortress against winter and the cold (and understandably so). Though it’s our hometown, it’s not our favorite airport. Not enough light.

Milwaukee’s airport was so easy and uncrowded. We could not believe the security line was so short. We eased right through.

But our favorite airport is ABQ in New Mexico. There is so much light in that building and it’s so casual and welcoming. Hands down the best airport we’ve ever been in.

Our retreat feels weeks past, I’ve been so busy. Your piece took me back there, reminded me of the ease and pleasure of having all of you here in Milwaukee and in my favorite writing place in Sheboygan County. ( Don’t keep telling people how lovely Milwaukee is: it’s a secret- we don’t want to turn into Chicago!)

jude, thanks. And, uh, oh…I think I let the secret out. I hope to do a post on the art museums we saw, too. There may be a new flood of people heading for Milwaukee. 8)

It was wonderful to be in Sheboygan County, too. There were places along the lake that reminded me of the sea life and Maine. And places more inland that looked like Minnesota. Thanks for showing us around.

My transition back sounds like it has been easier than yours. I hope the interview went well. I thought of you often. I hope you held a little of the peacefulness inside. You have such a grounded place to write.

I’m curious to see what Missouri is like. The cool thing about red Ravine is the connections to writers all over the country. Hope your projects are going well!

I might have taken a moment to slip her a note via a stewardess or something. Just a simple thank you and a respectful appreciation of her work. Then there would be no obligation on her part to engage in conversation or reveal her identity to others.

She may be past the point of caring what people think of her writing, and way beyond being hounded by autograph seekers, but a simple gesture like a note might have struck a chord.

Good idea, Brian. I hadn’t even thought of a note. It might have been a good way to acknowledge her and my appreciation of her work. I did once slip a note to Alice Walker when I saw her at a booksigning and talk a few years ago. I was pleasantly surprised by her response.

I wish I had thought to do that on the plane. Next time! Showing gratitude to other writers in whatever ways we can seems so important on this journey.

Considering the flight from Minneapolis to Milwaukee is only 52 minutes, I’d say we squeezed in quite a bit of adventure. Between the suspicious looks for toting wild rice soup, going through the ghastly security check in Minneapolis twice, and seeing Louise…we did good! I am still in the afterglow from the weekend of writing with like-minded friends.

After seeing Louise at the airport, I’ve decided that I’m going to listen to her books on tape this summer on my way back and forth to the Minnesota State Fair. It was originally going to be an Ann Patchett summer, I’m revising that to an Ann/Louise summer. I have five on hold at the library already.

Stevo, do you ever get back to the States? It would be a long, long flight, I know. Just curious.

Teri, I hadn’t put that together before, that it was only 52 minutes. We did do good didn’t we. 8)

What a great idea – an Ann/Louise summer. What Erdrich book do you think you’ll start with?

I think I’ve mentioned several times on the blog that Liz and I listened to The Master Butcher’s Singing Club on tape at the same time a few summers ago. I loved it. You’re making me want to listen to more of her books.

I’m reading Ann’s books in the order she wrote them, which is easy since I own most of them. But when I pick up my Louise books on tape at the library, I’m going to let it be a random selection…whatever I’m in the mood for. If she is reading her own work on one of them, that’s always a plus. I’ve heard both you and Liz mention The Master Butcher’s Singing Club, Jude talked about Miracles at Little No Horse.

I’ve been longing lately to know the work of my own people. There was an article lately in a local magazine that talked about the most influential writers right now in Minnesota. I am sad to say I knew more about them as people (Louise owns a bookstore, Bill Holm spend half the year in Iceland, Robert Bly is the new Poet Laureate) than I do about their work. I’m looking to change that.

Louise Erdrich appears to be really coming into her own. In a recently published article, the caliber of her writing is being compared to some of the greatest writers from the Midwest: Sinclair Lewis and F. Scott Fitzgerald to name a few.

And good for Louise, she stays close to her roots, giving back to the North Dakota Indian community where she spent most of her childhood. She and her sister have a writing retreat every summer at the Turtle Mountain Indian reservation. I’ve never gone, but wouldn’t it be great?

Teri, yeah, that’s right. Jude was talking about Miracles at Little No Horse. I think Liz has that one on a book shelf here. I know what you mean about knowing about these Minnesotans but not as much about their work.

BTW, Robert Bly was the poet on the Ted Kooser American Life in Poetry poem that came into my inbox today. Maybe I’ll drop it into a post somewhere. Let us know which Erdrich book on tape you start the summer off with. 8)

Sinclair, really great about Louise and her sister having the writing retreat every summer at the Turtle Mountain Indian Reservation. It would be great. One more reason to like the Erdrich sisters — they give back to their community. Thanks for commenting.

You should have shared your treasure. I bet there isn’t a single famous writer that’s ever been offered wild rice soup at 30,000 feet. She would have love you’re originality QM. You might have even made her next book if it tasted really great…

We went out tonight to an early dinner at one of our favorite restaurants — celebrating the last day of school for both our daughters — and we opened up the local alternative weekly. There what did I find but an interview with Louise Erdrich! Rave reviews, too, for her last book, which I hadn’t realized was based on a true story. I’m intrigued.

ybonesy, that’s really great about seeing the interview with Louise Erdrich in a local weekly there. And rave reviews, to boot. Fantastic.

Scot, thank you. I imagine you’ve had some long flights and been in many an unusual airport in your travels half way around the world.

Heather, your idea of sharing the Minnesota wild rice soup with her is hilarious. It would have been a great offering to a Minnesota writer. And quite the story, too. I always look forward to your great comments! 8)

Wanted to take a moment to drop in some info on the other two Erdrich sisters, also great writers. Heid is a poet. Lise writes children’s books, and recently broke out into short fiction.

Here are their bio’s from the covers of the books we bought when we saw them at the Minneapolis Central Library:

__________________

From the cover of The Mother’s Tongue by Heid E. Erdrich:

Heid E. Erdrich, author of Fishing for Myth poems from New Rivers Press and co-editor of Sister Nations anthology from the Minnesota Historical Society Press, has won awards from The Loft Literary Center, Minnesota State Arts Board, Woodcraft Circle of Native Writers, and the Archibald Bush Foundation. She founded Birchbark Books Press with her sister, author Louise Erdrich. Her degrees are from Dartmouth College and Johns Hopkins University. A member of the Turtle Mountain Band of Ojibway, she was raised in Wahpeton, North Dakota where her parents taught at the Bureau of Indian Affairs boarding school. She teaches at The University of St. Thomas.

________________

From the cover of Night Train, Stories by Lise Erdrich:

Lise Erdrich is the author of Bears Make Rock Soup and Sacagawea, two books for children. A member of the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa Indians, she was born in Minnesota, lives in Wahpeton, North Dakota, and has been occupied in the fields of Indian Health Service and Indian Education for twenty years. Night Train is her first collection of short fiction.

Since Louise is Ojibwe (and wild rice is harvested by Native Americans), how would she respond if someone gave her wild rice soup at 30,000 feet? Would it be like handing a Norwegian a piece of lefse or a Mexican a tortilla? I feature Louise’s face getting a puzzled look, as it, “What are you trying to say exactly?” When I was a teacher, people (who weren’t my students) bought me lots of items with apples on them–mugs, notepads, and towels. I would open a birthday gift of wash clothes covered with green and red apples and think, “Really? Are you kidding?” I wonder if it’s the same thing.

Sinclair, I hadn’t even considered that perspective. I wonder if it would make a difference where you were when you were handed something like that. What if a person was touring in another country – and someone handed them something from their homeland or home state. Would it then seem different or more welcoming?

Good point about the apples and teachers. I wonder, too, if it’s the same thing. I am also curious about how apples ever got connected to teachers.

Originally (so they say), students brought their teacher an apple on the first day of school to make a good impression–to win the immediate favor of him or her. It was something available (fall=apple harvest), free, and readily available to children.

When I taught, you wouldn’t believe how many times adults asked me, “How many apples have you gotten so far this year?”

Hmmm. Interesting about the apples. I suppose the only student who ever made a good impression with an apple then, was the first student to ever do it? 8)

I don’t ever remember handing my teachers anything like that. But I do remember trying to make a good impression with the ones I liked. When I had a good teacher, I’d often feel sad at the end of the year, knowing they wouldn’t be teaching me anymore.

So Sinclair, do you have a recollection of your favorite gift ever from a student?

Ah, stuffed animals. Anyone have any ideas about what to do with an old collection of stuffed animails? There must be a way to match them up with just the right kids. It seems like most places only take new or unused. What in the world do people do with those old Gund’s.

Okay, I know it was a serious question. I have put scads of items on Craigslist in the “Free” section. I never fail to be amazed at how many people respond and how quickly. Apparently a whole subculture waits by their computer to see what’s free on Craigslist. Brown bear and yellow duck will surely find a home.

I’ve picked up my first round of books on tape at the library (by Louise), and I feel rich in listening material. Tales of Burning Love isn’t one of them, but I’ll look forward to hearing if Liz likes it. I’m leaning toward beginning with The Birchbark House. I think I’ll listen to one side right now. What better way to spend a quiet Sunday evening with nowhere I have to go in the morning?

I just this minute finished reading one of Louise Erdrich’s non-fiction books, Books and Islands in Ojibwe Country, and I’m telling you, I couldn’t put it down. Stunning read with elegant drawings by the author. It’s about a pilgrimage she takes to her Ojibwe homeland, and a visit to a priceless, nearly unknown library on Rainy Lake. If you love books, language, connection to place and the land, you won’t be able to put it down.

Wow, QM, you read that book fast! It sounds fabulous. I listened to the first cassette of The Birchbark House today. I was so engrossed in the story of the girl, I felt a bit of a menace to the roadways. I got out during my drive in a small town along the river, Marine-on-St.Croix–a town of 600 that has maintained its historic integrity. They have a tiny library, and guessed what book they had in the window? The Birchbark House.

Teri, I devoured that book. And I’d like to read it again. She has a few on-point insights about books, writing, and the nature of a person’s beliefs and spirituality. She also talks about wild rice, the Wild Rice Spirit, and the rest of the Spirits around the Painted Rocks.

Seems like synchronicity that The Birchbark House was in the window of the little library in Marine-on-St.Croix. Sounds like you were right where you were supposed to be. Great connection.

I’m really struck by all this Erdrich synchronicity happening for the both of you.

Also, in the interview with Erdrich that I saw in the local alternative paper last week, I was surprised both by how attractive and how young she is.

QM, the book you read sounds great. I love connection to place, land, traditions, plus I love the notion of illustrating my own words — so this is one I’ll want to look up at the library. It will be interesting to see if we have anything by her in our local community library.

ybonesy, it is amazing. And to top it all off, I had an epic dream last night with Louise Erdrich in it. I was thinking about her at dinner because Liz had left the book she’s reading, Tales of Burning Love, on the table at the restaurant. I picked it up and read the book jacket. Then I was thinking about what I had read about Louise’s life.

When I woke up this morning, I realized she had been a presence throughout my dreamworld last night. I don’t remember her saying anything, just being there, a steady, calm presence.

I do believe there are certain times that writers, their books, their histories, come into our lives to help move us along, back us up, keep us connected to our writing. Books and authors become mentors. She seems to be weaving in and out of my life quite frequently over the last few weeks.

Yes, let us know what you find at the library there. She’s pretty big here, so we have most of her books stocked. But I don’t know if that’s true other places.

BTW, another synchronicity. I dropped off a movie at the library that Liz and I had watched last weekend. When the library’s open, they ask you to come inside and drop the books off at the counter.

Guess what book was right on top of a pile that someone had just dropped off? The Plague Of Doves.

I finished listening to Erdrich’s The Birchbark House today. It’s been ages since I’ve read a children’s chapter book. It’s a sweet story that follows a young girl, Omakayas, through the seasons of their home (The Birchbark House). It broaches the layered, sometimes complex relationship between the white Voyageurs and the Ojibwe in least inflammatory account I’ve ever read.

Teri, Louise touched on that subject as well in Books and Islands in Ojibwe Country, but it was in relationship to the Ojibwe language and the way it’s been appropriated, mislabeled, and misused.

It gave me a greater understanding into her feelings about the appropriation of the “Fighting Sioux” (see link at bottom of post). It seems like a very complicated subject. And to be able to broach it in a children’s book in such an accessible manner would be a good opening.

lil, what a fantastic review and article about Louise Erdrich. I hope people check out the link. It’s very well written. And goes into the history of her life. I like the photograph of her as well. (We were looking at her photographs on book jackets at our last poetry group. In some, she was very young.):

Her acclaimed fiction remembers the drama and tragedy of the Native American past. Louise Erdrich’s latest novel, she tells John Freeman, is about memory itself

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This from the article about her new book, The Plague of Doves:

As in all of Erdrich’s books, revenge is a theme – but a complicated one, as families involved in the hanging intermarry. Memory is a battleground. The tribal members keep the story alive through folklore; the whites try to pretend it never happened. “In the beginning, the whites had all the power,” Erdrich says, “but as one reviewer put it: The Indians have the history.” Her deft handling of this tension has earned her high praise across the US. “Her most deeply affecting work yet,” wrote the New York Times’s famously hard-to-please critic Michiko Kakutani, while Philip Roth hailed a “dazzling masterpiece”.

And this on her prior accomplishments:

…she has produced since then – six novels for adults, one of which, The Last Report on the Miracles of Little No Horse (2001), was a National Book Award finalist; three novels for children, one of which, The Birchbark House (1999) was a finalist for the National Book Award; a collection of poems and a non-fiction work on books and islands in Ojibwe Country. She also founded Birchbark Books, a non-profit bookstore in Minneapolis, raised four daughters, continued learning the Ojibwe language, which she feared was being erased, and taught workshops on Turtle Mountain with her sister Heid.

I finished The Master Butcher’s Singing Club yesterday; a great summer read. Or (since I listened to it on cassette tape), a great summer listen.

I’ve lived in Argus, North Dakota for the last few weeks, Louise taking me through years with the German immigrants who lived there. I’m pretty new to Louise, but if this book is any indication, she has the ability to write characters that I won’t forget.

I’m going to listen to Tracks next. One reason is that it is two cassettes instead of eleven. The other is that my friend Liz (from North Dakota just like Louise) was introduced to that book years ago in a college town on the Minnesota/North Dakota border. After the class read the book, Louise came to visit.

My friend Carol gave me her copy of the poem Teri sent her (which she had printed out in blue): 8)

Here are a few lines:

Above all
little blue eyeglasses,
train her eyes upon the truth
and let her eyes rest in the truth
and help her see within the truth the strength
to bear the truth.

After last night, I want to buy her poetry book, Original Fire, Selected And New Poems. I found her poetry to be sensual and whole, of the Earth.

Teri, it was great to listen to parts of The Master Butcher’s Singing Club last night. Louise’s reading voice is so soothing. Liz and I listened to it a few years ago at the same time. We checked out two sets of audio tapes and listened to them, then compared notes. I really loved that book. So it was fun to listen to that excerpt last night!

QM,
Have you and Liz thought about listening to another of her books together? That seems fun–your own little book club.

Just wondering, will you buy Original Fire at Birchbark Books?

I, too, have noticed the sensual and whole quality of Louise’s writing. I think that’s a good way to describe it–sensual and whole. It is also entirely natural, too, effortless. There’s no shame or sensation or shock value intended. Just life. All of it. Death, birth, sex, searching, loneliness, happiness, family.

Teri, we have thought about listening to another of Louise’s books on tape. Maybe we’ll check them out in August. It seems like a good summer thing to do on those drives back and forth to work and the studio.

I’d love to buy Original Fire at Birchbard Books. And, as you know, I actually drove by there Saturday nght but it was closed! I did take a few photographs though.

Also, when I got home last Friday nght, Liz had a little surprise for me — she had stopped by Birchbark and bought a signed copy of The Plague of Doves for me! After hearing Ruth talk about it at the poetry reading, I’m very excited to read it.

So that’s the only book I’m taking along with me on my trip. I don’t usually get much time to read on these trips, but I hope to squeeze some in on the plane!

I always take boatloads of reading material with me when I travel, and never crack a book. I’m glad you’re not pressuring yourself too much about it. I hope I can see your signed copy of The Plague of Doves. Do you think all Louise’s books at the Birchbark are signed?

In Travels With Charley, Steinbeck talks about all the reading and writing material he loaded in his camper for his 3-month journey, well-aware that he never wrote in the moment. Are you like him, absorbing in the moment and processing later?

I hope I can make a little time to read. Airports are good for that. You’re right though — no pressure! I’ll be sure to show you the book upon my return. I don’t know if all of Louise’s books are signed in Birchbark or not. But I’m guessing you could always ask and have it happen on the backend. Liz said both she and the person minding the store (Louise’s daughter) looked to see that the book was signed before she bought it.

Regarding the Steinbeck observation, I think I am kind of like that. Processing is sometimes slow for me. I like for things to kind of go through my whole body. If I think about it, I think I like to get down the details and initial reactions and observations in a practice or a short piece. Then process the experience and write a longer piece or final piece later. Maybe it’s a kind of combo thing. Good observation. I have to think about it more.

Which are you prone to do? Process and write in the moment? Or write later.

Writing in the moment is an enormous strain for me. I could do a 10-minute writing practice, but not much more. I did get into the habit several years ago of sending myself postcards from the road. I take stamps with me, and buy cards at convenience stores when I fill up my gas tank–always ones that have the name of the state I’m in. I get the best flashes of inspiration and clarity on the road. I’ll write them down (usually only a sentence), and mail the postcard in the next small town I get to.

Getting lots of postcards from myself (after I’ve gotten home) is the best.

The sending yourself postcards with snippets of inspiration is a wonderful idea.

I travelled a lot for work some years back and wrote constantly, but it was different in that it wasn’t for later use. I wasn’t on a writing assignment, in other words. I’m glad now to have the detail from those trips in my notebooks. Some days I’ll read what was going on and chuckle because whatever event I’m describing becomes so vivid as I read it.

BTW, what is it about writing in the moment that is the strain? Is it the feeling that you’re expecting yourself to produce writing when you haven’t even finished experiencing the thing you’re supposed to write about? Just curious.

Do you save all your notebooks? Are you glad you do? And, I wonder, how many are there? I only save significant notebooks (like the ones I take to Taos), but I wonder if that’s a mistake. I just finished another one tonight (filled with the worst junk in America). What would you do?

I save mine; I like reading through them to remember what was going on in my life at different times. I thought I had 20-something, but I just counted: 39. If it were me, I’d save them. But that’s not because I believe there’s goodness in saving them. Just that I have a poor memory — the notebooks give me back snippets.

When I sold my house, I looked at the stacks and stacks of journals, many of them dating back to college. I had lots of those padded types. Remember the ones covered in flowers or stripes? I decided to read through them, mining for great details. But I couldn’t stand it. Year after year of the same heartbreak or issues or obsessions. I threw them in the trash. Sometimes I regret it. Sometimes I’m relieved to be unburdened. Who knows?

I do, however, have a full jumbo-sized box full of scrapbooks dating back to 3rd grade. Those I will never part with. 🙂

I took my niece Anna to Louise Erdrich’s bookstore (Birchbark Books) today. Anna is an English major in Moorhead (just across the Red River from Louise’s North Dakota), and has read Painted Drum for one of her classes. Afterwards, we walked two blocks to Lake of the Isles and took the hour-long path around the lake.

I was happy to see two things: 1. The bookstore was full of customers, all with books in their hands to buy and 2. When we were walking around the lake, we saw an uncanny number of men and women reading. It gave me such a boost.

I, myself, bought a book that includes Robert Frost’s first two published books: A Boy’s Will and North of Boston.

Teri, Liz and I were out driving around on a beautiful day last weekend and happened by Birchbark Books. It was hopping then, too. It’s so good to see people still coming out to support Independent bookstores. They are usually out of the way and it takes more effort to get to them. But it’s worth the work.

Did you and Anna talk about Painted Drum on your walk around the lake? Liz met Louise Erdrich in Moorhead years and years ago when she came there to read and talk about one of her books. She was an up and coming writer then. So great that you took Anna to Birchbark. Passing it on.

I’m glad you’ve been to Louise’s bookstore now! Anna and I didn’t discuss Painted Drum; I haven’t read it yet. Another thing I love about independent bookstores is that they *really* appreciate my business. They know about books, and it matters to them that I’m buying them. I pre-ordered the 2008 Best of American Short Stories over the phone last summer, and the clerk ended the call with: “Thanks so much for thinking of us.”

Oh, did you see in the back all the signatures of authors who have visited the store? Ted Kooser and Robert Bly have both been there.

Nope, I’m sorry to say, I didn’t see the Ted Kooser and Robert Bly signatures. I’m so sorry I missed them! I wasn’t moving slow enough that day, didn’t spend as much time as I would have liked. I haven’t read The Painted Drum, yet either. It’s my experience, too, that Independents have a great appreciation for their patrons. You can develop “book relationships” with the people that work there, a wonderful thing.

One of the women at the breakfast table (here at Mabel Dodge) was a woman who was staying overnight as a bed-and-breakfast guest. She was talking to someone else, and I heard the words, “Birchbark Books.”

I instantly nosed my way into the conversation, and found out she had been in Minneapolis on a layover, and had tried to find Birchbark Books but couldn’t. What’s more, she grew up on the Turtle Mountain Reservation. She went to high school there, moved to Colorado for law school, met her future husband, and settled in CO. She has taken Louise’s annual writing class (August) on the reservation.

Teri, amazing connection. Don’t you love all the overheard conversations in Mabel’s dining room? 8) Yeah, thing about Birchbark, it’s a little out of the way and hard to find if you don’t know the right streets. Twisty and turny. I like that she set it up there in that little neighborhood though. It’s perfect. Can’t wait to hear more about the workshop.

Yes, I felt pretty smart knowing where Birchbark is, and then I remembered how hard it was to find the first time.

The Turtle Mountain Reservation writing workshop is taught by Louise & her sister Heid, but sort of loosely. The woman I met said there are several Chippewa writers who “help” lead, many men. She said you have to dig around and make some calls to get information, that they don’t want a mass of people from everywhere descending on the Rez…the gawking types.

A woman at the table asked her if it is just for Native Americans. She had to think about it for a while. Then she said, “No, there were non-Indians there, too.”

I learned today at Birchbark Books that Louise Erdrich has a new book out: The Red Convertible. It is a collection of her short stories that span several decades.

I bought one for my niece, Ruth, who has just left for medical school in the Caribbean. Ruth is 27, and a hard-core Louise fan. I’ve left the book at the store for Louise to inscribe. I’ve given her these facts:

Teri, great idea for Ms. Ruth! She’s going to love that. I heard a rumor she was a little homesick already out at medical school. Sending lots of love and hugs for her. And she’ll have the bookmarks soon. How many days do you think it will take for them to reach her through the mail?

I didn’t know about Louise Erdrich’s new book until you mentioned it. Will have to check it out when we, hopefully, get over to Birchbark this weekend. It’s so great that you can leave Louise’s books there and have her sign them. I’ve been reading shorter venues lately, like poetry and short stories, rather than longer fiction or novels. The timing is good. And, of course, more kudos for the Independents. Let’s try to keep supporting our local bookstores!

The man at the post office said the package of bookmarks would take a week to get to Grenada. Ruth called this morning; she likes Med School. Starting to adjust!

Susan (Birchbark) told me Louise published three books last year. Isn’t that astonishing? One for young readers, plus Plague of Doves & The Red Convertible. She’s doing a book signing tomorrow night, but alas, we’ll be with Nikki Giovanni!

Teri, did Ruth get her book, The Red Convertible yet? All the way to Grenada! I saw it on the shelves when we visited Birchbark Books yesterday.

Yes, we finally made it over to Birchbark Books! We milled around, sat looking at books, talked to the man behind the counter about ordering online. And it turns out, he is the person who designed their webpage.

I happened to mention it and asked a question about what they would offer on the web. He said mostly a good selection of Native American books. And that they were still deciding what else to add. The web designers name is Nathan Pederson. I told him it looks great and they did a good job of remodeling it. I like the birch wallpaper and the additon of Louise Erdrich’s sketches.

Another tidbit, I thought it was fun to read the handwritten cards on the books that had been reviewed. Sometimes by Susan, sometimes by Louise. I paid attention to those and usually picked them up. Great children’s section, too. It’s a wonderful place to browse.

BTW, Joseph M. Marshall III will be there Friday, February 20th @ 7pm with his latest book The Power of Four: Leadership Lessons of Crazy Horse. It looked pretty interesting. You can read more at the Birchbark website (LINK) (here’s a blurb from there):

In The Power of Four, Marshall draws inspiration from three names that have resonated powerfully throughout history to develop his unique concept of leadership: Sitting Bull, Red Cloud, and especially Crazy Horse…Four factors stand out when looking at him as a leader, and they were the basis of his success: Know yourself, Know your friends, Know the enemy. Lead the way.

The last time I was at Birchbark, Louise’s poet sister Heid was there. We had a nice chat, and I asked her if she and Louise are teaching the writing class at Turtle Mountain Rez next summer. The answer is yes, and I’ve put my name on the waiting list. They fill it will Native writers from the tribe first, and then open it up to the general public.

Teri, yb and I might hold you to that post for red Ravine! I hope you get in. So glad Ruth got the bookmarks. Such a great idea to have all of us sign them. So glad Robert Bly is there with her, too. She’s carrying all the poetry we have read together inside. 8)

It was just announced that the famous Minnesota author, Bill Holm, died yesterday. I am crushed! I heard him speak at Talk of the Stacks last year, a man who lived life on his own terms.

When I went through his hometown recently, I drove by his house and stopped at the library. The librarian told me when fans came through town, she would call him and he would walk over and sign their books.

We’ve lost a classic. They called him “The Mark Twain of the Midwest.”

Teri, I’m really sad to hear about Bill Holm. I had not heard until your comment. I had to look it up on MPR. Here’s a link for anyone who wants to read more: Minnesota author Bill Holm dies at 65 (LINK). Here’s a link to his website, too Bill Holm Official Website (LINK). Sounds like he was at the top of his game as a writer after 27 years of teaching. So you stopped at the library in Minneota? Right to the source. Can’t believe he lived summers in Iceland near the Arctic Circle.

I like this from him:

The farther away from Minnesota that I got, the more I realized that my material as a writer — not just the material, but the way that I saw the world and the lens through which I observed America, the world and my life was somehow — had something to do with this funny little town where I was born.

And touching from Garrison:

I wish I’d been there to catch him as he fell. I hope his Icelandic ancestors are waiting to welcome him to their rocky corner of heaven. I hope his piano goes to someone who will love it as much as he did. I hope that people all across Minnesota will pick up one of his books and see what the man had to say.

Teri, what will you remember most about Bill Holm. It seems like seeing writers in person really brings us closer to them as people. At least that’s been my experience with Talking Volumes and the writers that come to the Fitzgerald.

When I heard him last year at the library, he was talking about passing on the baton of teaching on to someone else. As I recall, he had taught freshman English all of his 27 years at Southwest State. He had loved it, but was ready to devote all his time to Iceland, the piano, writing, and his home in Minneota. That’s one of the things I find so crushing, that he was really anxious to live the next phase of his life.

When I went to Minneota, I saw that he lived in a classic, two-story, small-town house. Considering his success, he could have lived somewhere posh. He didn’t. I saw the Icelandic Church his ancestors started (where Bill gave piano concerts), and I made a mental note to go hear him play someday. I took the road he drove from his home to the University for 27 years.

When Robert Bly was named our first Poet Laureate, Bill Holm was quoted instantly as saying, “Of course. Who else but Robert?” No jealousy. No competition.

He had a beautiful, booming voice. He was tall–6’8″. He had that fabulous hair and beard. He told us he didn’t like trees–a prairie native through and through.

When Bill got off an airplane on Wednesday, he collapsed. I’ve read both “heart troubles” and “complications from pneumonia.”

So far, his funeral plans haven’t been announced, though I’m certain it will be held at Southwest State, his workplace all those years. I wish it could be at the small, clapboard Icelandic church in his hometown. That would be so much more Bill’s style.

When my friend, D., turned 50 a few years ago, she said that she knew she didn’t have all the time in the world left. It’s different than turning 30, when you’re whole life is ahead of you. I’ve had that sense since I heard about Bill’s passing. He was only 18 years older than me, and I wonder what I’m doing with my time.

I just listened to the MPR audio and then visited Holm’s website. Wow, he looked Icelandic with that white-blond hair and eyebrows that grew back and upward. I understood from the report that he believed as a writer it was important to be engaged in current events, and he blogged about the Republican National Conventional when it was in MN. I would love to see some of his politically inspired essays; I thought maybe his website had a blog on it, but I couldn’t find one.

He sounded like a treasure, not just to Minnesotans but to all of us. He was young, wasn’t he?

Teri, do you think it will be a big funeral, lots of people who loved his work there? Or will they keep it small. I wonder if they might have two different kinds of services.

I heard the MPR story about Bill Holm again on the way home from work. I like listening to it because I get to hear his voice. It really is sad to lose a writer so young, and one who had just won such a prestigious award, heading into what he thought would be years of writing ahead of him.

The story talked about how much he championed young or up and coming writers. How he would often hold up another writer’s book in the middle of a book store and tell everyone why they should by it. He sounds like a man with a generous heart.

The funeral is on Sunday afternoon, March 8th. I imagine there will be many people there from the college, and all the Minnesota writers–Louise Erdrich, Patricia Hampl, Robert Bly, Phoebe Hanson, Garrison Keillor. Then again, it’s over a week away. Perhaps they’re having a private service & burial for Bill’s inner circle soon, and the 8th is for the larger community.

I’ve read a lot of memorials and blogs today about him. Everyone is stunned. How can this giant of a man be gone? I’ve got some of his poetry books on hold at the library. We’ll honor him at March’s Poetry & Meditation. His poems they’ve been reading on the radio the last two days have blown me away.

Teri, I’m happy to hear we’ll be honoring Bill Holm in March’s poetry gathering. I will look forward to hearing his work. His writing and poetry will live on in those who read and honor it. What strikes me the most about his death, is how much it reminds the rest of us to try to live our lives to the fullest every single day. And to not wait to get to our writing, our art, whatever our dreams are. Speaking for myself, creative dreams take a long, long time to come to fruition. And it’s so much about plodding along through the mud and the light, day by day.

Yes, Bill lived his life fully. The life he wanted to live. He lived rich and slow and deep. He didn’t apologize for it, and guarded his choices passionately.

I’m aware lately of how much I don’t live when I am trying to live other people’s lives, or when I worry about them, or wring my hands over things I can’t control. I’d like to be more like Bill Holm in that way. He wouldn’t have wasted his time.

I saw someone from our Poetry & Meditation group this morning. She said when she lived in Duluth she went to an event where Garrison Keillor and Bill Holm were both reading their work. She said the bantering back and forth between them was sensational. Can you imagine? Two extremely tall, extremely opinionated, especially funny writers.

Teri, your mention of Bill Holm and Garrison Keillor bantering back and forth in Duluth, reminds me of seeing the three Erdrich sisters at the library and how they bantered back and forth. And listening to Nikki Giovanni and James Baldwin banter back and forth in their taped session from the early 70’s (See Baldwin & Giovanni — On Truth & Love (LINK). In my opinion, this kind of back and forth between writers and artists is invaluable to gaining insight into the arts, writing, and who these people are. It’s totally inspiring. And I think it’s something that does not happen much anymore. Not the way it did in the 60’s and 70’s.

I’d really like to see this kind of dialogue come back into style. Many times, you get a sense of the activism of writers and artists who most times live on the fringe. It’s really different than panel discussions, too. Totally different. Seeing writers dialogue with each other totally spontaneously is a real gift. It also reminds me of when Dylan went on tour in Europe with Joan Baez and met Donovan and they taped all the hotel room banter. It’s fascinating. And a glimpse of how grueling the behind-the-scenes lives of creative people can be. There is so much going on under the surface of their books, art, music.

Teri, I’m thinking about Bill Holm at this very second because we are watching the show Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern on the Travel Channel and he’s tasting all these foods from Iceland. He also talks about the culture – the pure bred Icelandic horses and the one highway that circles Iceland, The Ring.

The food is amazing. Andrew helps to make the Blood or Black Pudding (slatur, shortened from slaughter) in this segment:

Reykjavik: Andrew went to the home of a woman (Dadda) who still makes slatur (Icelandic blood pudding) in the traditional way – flour, fat, oats, and fresh sheep’s blood. Dadda taught Andrew how to make it and then they sampled this “Frankenstein food.”

[…] by Ted Kooser on behalf of American Life in Poetry. Two more Midwest poets. We had been speaking of Bill Holm in the comments on several posts after he died unexpectedly a few months ago. He spent much of his time near his roots in Iceland, […]

Teri, I’m so excited for her new book. And it’s great that you pre-ordered it from Birchbark Books. I think she signs them when you order them there, too, doesn’t she? Hope you’ll fill us in later when you have a chance to get started on it. Thanks for checking in here.

[…] back home. Also picked up two books I’ve been wanting to read: lit by Mary Karr and Louise Erdrich’s The Plague of Doves. Between the books, my writing and doodle journals, plus a presentation and a […]

I just walked by the new (in progress) Turtle Bread restaurant in my neighborhood. I looked in the window, saw they’ve hung some art, and was *delighted* to see a huge black-and-white photo of Louise Erdrich on the wall. James Wright is up there, too. Maybe a Minnesota author theme? Totally awesome.

Teri, I can’t wait to see the photographs in Turtle Bread. Any sign of when it’s opening? We’ll have to meet you there for dinner. Speaking of Turtles, it seems like it’s taken forever for the remodeling to get done. I guess they are living up to their Turtle name. 8)

We don’t have to wait until Turtle opens before we go to the Riverview. If you see something you want to see, shoot us an email. But it might have to be after April 23rd. (Too much going on.) I love the Riverview and haven’t been there in a long time!

That would be FUN. Yes, count me in! I think I saw The Birds on the big screen there one year when Tippi Hedren was visiting in person. She spoke before we saw the film. The lines were around the block. That rocked. It would be great to see Psycho!